


Mis/matched

by meremennen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Matchmaking, POV Bellamy Blake, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meremennen/pseuds/meremennen
Summary: Objectively speaking, Bellamy knows that he’s merely having a few unlucky years. It will pass. He’s not worried. So what if he hasn't been on a real date in years? It’s fine. He’s recovering from a bad breakup and it’s normal to stay put after that for a while. He is fine.His sister thinks otherwise. Octavia is pretty confident in a few things. For one, she seems to know that Bellamy’s wallowing in self-pity and he needs a kick to move on. Two, she’ll be the perfect sister-in-law, if only Bellamy would get back into the game. So she signs him up for the local love guru's services.Bellamy’s reluctant at first, but then ... then he meets Clarke.OR: A Modern AU where Bellamy is set up on a date and it doesn’t go as he expected.





	1. Small rain lays great dust

**Author's Note:**

> Please assume this Octavia loves her brother with passion and would do anything for his happiness. (Mostly because I started writing this years ago and still like the concept.)

With twenty-eight years and a half behind him, Bellamy Blake thinks there are very few things that could render him speechless.

Watching the feisty blonde turning on her heels – curls angrily bouncing around her shoulders as she storms away – is definitely not one of them. Her steps are short yet surprisingly quick, she’s heading in the direction of the arched double wings of the entrance.

The whole situation could be comical, even.

But then he feels the cold liquid finding its way through the thin fabric of his shirt, making him shiver.

_Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack._

He hears the faltering clacking of her heels before the low murmur of the surrounding tables starts to pick up again.

Someone clears their throat, asking him politely, almost whispering, if he would like to _still_ place an order for the kitchen or he’d _rather_ settle the bill.

Slowly, very slowly, his mouth quirks up in a smile.

He swallows the remainder of his water and asks for the check. He’ll pick up some junk food around the corner.

 _The Odyssey_ , he thinks, and smiles all the way home and he holds onto that warm feeling until he falls asleep, forgetting completely about the stain on his shirt.

 

 

*** **A couple hours earlier** ***

 

"BELL, COME ONNN!!" Octavia's voice rings through the apartment, urging him on.

He's about to finish taming the unruly mop of hair on top of his head but there's that one stubborn curl which just keeps falling back to his forehead. It's not quite long enough to reach his eyes but it's long enough to tickle a strip of skin above his eyebrows over and over. It annoys him.

“ _Damn it_ ,” he mutters when his eyes catch a glimpse of the small canister of honeybee texturising wax in the mirror's reflection. It's sitting oh so peacefully on the small mahogany shelf he’d installed himself above the towel rack before his flatmate moved out.

The wax is a leftover from the times Nathan Miller used to live here, occupying the other room (now designated guest room) down the hall. Miller had this uncanny ability to cramp the shelves with a variety of fair trade facial care products, some smelling like ripe summer fruits or Christmas; and Bellamy didn’t say a word, because Miller was a friend since he could count and an amazing flatmate. If his only addiction was to collect sweet smelling toiletries, anyone living with him could consider themselves damn lucky.

But anyway. They are still best friends and they still meet up for a couple of beers now and then, and Miller still texts him inappropriate memes at the most inappropriate times.

Honestly, it’s a true miracle it had taken Miller as long as it had, when a few months ago, he finally had gathered enough courage and asked his longtime boyfriend (now fiancé), Bryan, to move in together. Just the two of them. So Miller moved out, but there are still a few of his things scattered around the apartment. Like that blue gooey shaving gel that prickles his skin on contact, so Bellamy never uses it, or that box of fruity hair wax he’s eyeing, more and more determined as the clock is ticking away.

Well, Miller moved out about twelve months ago - just barely after _The Pandallectomy_ \- as Octavia likes to refer to the poorest choice in his entire dating history.

He’s known Echo from before by sight, she had been tagging along with a different group of people on trivia nights, and it’s not like he had been completely blind to her affections. That is, until one particularly hard night, haunted and still recovering from his bad break up with Gina, Echo and her exploring touches and sickeningly sweet smiles had not felt so intruding or so sickening anymore. (He knows _why_ now, and Octavia has never blamed him, or has even been mad at him, though his sister had admittedly got carried away at the time, just like him. It’s a trait, not a curse, a rather powerful trait - which, if he didn’t know better he’d say, is something he has passed down to her.)

He and Echo had some fun, he supposes, regardless of the circumstances; but in hindsight, it lasted exactly ninety-one days beyond its expiry and ended in a near catastrophe.

 _That’s enough down the memory lane,_ he sighs and grabs for the wax. He couldn’t care less that it’s pineapple scent.

"The love guru is waiting, we cannot be late!" Octavia's shrill voice rings, more impatient.

"Who's this guy again?" he asks, wary, from behind the closed doors of the bathroom. "Wait, scratch that. What _on Earth_ makes _a guy_ open up a matchmaking business?"

" _Bell_ , that's so not the point! Mister T is very popular in his field. You should feel very, _very_ lucky we’ve got this appointment in the first place! HURRY UP!"

He chuckles, S _o impatient_. He can practically feel her energy radiating through the walls. His lips quirk up higher at the edges. The mental image of his sister stomping her feet in frustration, the way she used to stomp her feet as a three-year-old, is more than enough to dissolve some of the tension of his own.

Just as he's about to reach for the handle to step out, the bathroom door is yanked open.

“O! Don’t do that! You weren’t raised by the wolves.”

She stares at him, mouth agape. Her eyebrows twist into a crooked line.

" _Oh my god_. No. No way," she shakes her head, planting her tiny hands on his chest and at the same time pushing him backwards, forcing him to take a step back into the bathroom.

"O! What the hell? I'm ready to go," he knocks her hand gently away and instantly starts his assessment on the damage his sister's fingers have possibly done to his perfectly ironed shirt.

It took him ten minutes to smooth the wrinkles, but his sister has clearly forgotten about that, despite her never-ending grumbling about the fact. ( _Oh my god, Bell, you’re going to burn a hole in that thing!_ )

He's patting on the light fabric stretching over his chest - a dark grey cotton shirt - smoothing it gently in an effort to flatten the minuscule wrinkles away.

"It took me ten minutes to iron this shirt!" he stares pointedly at his sister.

Octavia's mouth quirks up in amusement, her eyes have taken up that odd sparkling demeanour she does on the occasions when she's holding back on a grin.

She's shaking her head slowly.

She takes a step away from him, drops her hands and tilts her head, assessing.

"Of course you did," she teases. "But ... I cannot let you out on the street, _hopefully_ on a date, with _that thing_ on your head," gesturing at his shiny, slicked back hair.

He sags.

Deep down, he knows she's right. It _is_ slicked back – the way he used to wear it in his late teenage years. In his defence, the last girl he was involved with liked his hair all slicked back. Octavia hated said girl “friend” and respectively, hated and hates his hair like this.

Bad habits die hard.

***

Fourteen minutes later and they are on their way to the mysterious Mister T.

His hair looks still wet from the impromptu second shower when they get there, but he has to admit, O is good at this. She's good at fixing his mess.

He catches a glimpse of his own reflection in one of the big showcase windows they are passing by on the street and smiles. The Arkadian is full of these kinds of shops: floor to ceiling windows, minimalistic design otherwise, offering their expensive merchandise on display. Suits. Fedoras. Fancy faux leather bags with big designer logos.

Of course, Mister T's fancy office is located on one of these streets. He twists his mouth in disgust, but quickly recovers before O notices and asks. She is doing him a favour, after all. No matter that he doesn’t exactly feel like doing this right now, but yeah, he admittedly hates to be the centre of attention when it’s about his love life or lack thereof.

They are waiting at the red light, long enough that he dares to take another peek at himself. He allows a tiny nod taking in his reflection.

 _Artfully dishevelled_ , as O has put it. Yeah, she's good at fixing him.

And her fixing – possibly – probably – _most likely_ got him a date tonight.

 

** *

 


	2. My brother, my responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The love guru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait. You know that feeling when you hate parts of what you've written and cannot look at it?? Yep, I was in that hole and finally found my way out. On the plus side, chapter 3 is edited as well and posting sometime next week.

They meet the love guru for nine full minutes in the end.

 _Nine_ , he begrudgingly repeats it in his head on repeat.

Nine. Nine. Nine. Nine.

Nine minutes with Mister T, or Mister Tanoak, aka mister overpaid matchmaker in a fancy suit.

Or "just Lincoln" as the bulky relationship expert with a big black swirling neck tattoo offers up to them. And under different circumstances he would jump on the nickname like a shark, he really doesn’t like formalities outside of work. But when mister- _whatshisname-_ matchmaker pointedly turns to Octavia when he talks, now that — _that_ puts him a little on edge.

He cannot be seriously flirting with _his_ sister, his _baby_ sister, who is practically _his_ customer, too, right in front of _Bellamy’s_ eyes.

He _is_ used to Octavia flirting with guys in front of him, out of spite most of the time, but those guys never, _never_ flirt with Octavia when Bellamy is around. In his presence.

It's mostly due to his grumpy _touch-her-and-I'll-break-your-hands_ big brother look; he's had plenty of time to perfect that look during the years.  Which, somehow doesn't work on call-me-just-Lincoln.

He is annoyed, yes, but to his utter relief, Lincoln is called away for an emergency call, although he suspects it’s probably fake (“Sorry, a good friend of mine.”) and he has to leave only after a few minutes with them. So. He really couldn't have had enough time to evoke the Big Blake effect with full force - his trademark big brother power look – on the guy. At least that’s what he’s telling himself.

He is not worried, though. It's not like “Mister Love” has any more business to do with Octavia beyond this meeting.

The introductions have been made.

Payment is via transfer.

It's only him and _LoveIsiNtheair_ _Co’s_ business from now on.

Lincoln leaves, but his assistant stays, with a thick folder in his hand. The sight of the binder should make him nervous – what could really be in there anyway, besides his contact info and the parameters of his “perfect match”.

He’s unusually calm, breathing all evened out and easy, now that Lincoln whatshisname has left.

The new guy’s a bit shaggy and surly looking. He would be too if he were to work with Mister Love 24/7, he snorts internally.

The assistant introduces himself as John Murphy, takes a quick glance at Octavia, politely nods, but his eyes don’t linger and he doesn’t waste any more of their time and jumps right into it. He instinctively favours the guy over Mister Love.

And then John Murphy says: “We've found someone for you, Mister Blake, " and Bellamy’s gaping at him - because he doesn’t understand what is happening and his brain is running a mile a minute.

Did he hear him right?

His ears are ringing. He thinks it’s his body’s attempting hard to distract him of what Mister Murphy just said. Decidedly, he is purely focusing on the fact of how no one calls him Mister Blake outside of work and Mrs Vera Kane down the hall of his apartment building. But she’s rather conservative, so he calls her Mrs Kane, too.

Honest to God, it feels like hours has passed rather than the mere minutes when Octavia squeezes his hands and so sweetly smiles at him, instantly recognizing his discomfort. His mind is wiped clean, there’s no other way to put it. He hears all the voices around him, Murphy’s deep staccato mingling with Octavia’s brightness.

Later, as they are standing up and saying their goodbyes, he thinks, he's finally shaken out of his gaping stupor by the sound of his sister's cheerful babbling.

"Oh, _Bell_ , don't be so surprised. It's sweet, but have a little faith in yourself,” patting his back.”You _are_ handsome. A real catch. And tolerable, most days.” And then, way too joyous to his liking she also adds, "I told you Lincoln is the best."

 _Well, not exactly_ , he thinks.

 

Octavia _has_ told him that _Mister T_ was good in the dating business – hell, they'd even made him fill out those stupid tests.

Which, if he's being honest, he should have taken more seriously at the time, but he really wasn’t in the mood to make a big deal out of it.

When someone asks him a myriad of stupid, mind-numbing questions, such as :

 

  1. _Describe your ideal date._



 

He is justified in his decision to only respond with an equally silly answer. No, he doesn't remember his exact answer, but it must have been along the lines of:

 

_Tall, long legged, lithe, brunette. Likes and understands history. Sexy in glasses._

 

So what? Sue him. He was at a wrong headspace back then.

Echo had just returned a shoebox worth of his stuff, he doesn’t even know how she got her hands on in the first place, yet she had clearly intended to use them as a bargaining chip. Including _The Iliad_ , he'd gotten from Gina for his twenty-fourth birthday, at a time when they were still stupidly in love. All that now seems like it'd happened a lifetime ago, but Gina was his only long term ex before his short-lived thing (“colossal mistake while grieving” as per Octavia) with Echo. (Yeah, he knows that now.)

What guy wouldn’t fall for a pretty girl buying him drinks, warm hands roaming along his biceps, and sweet words caressing his soul -  whispering all the things his ego needed to hear at the time. Even if Octavia was throwing daggers at her every time they met. At one particularly intense day, he thought his sister would eat her alive and delete her from existence, when she made an unfortunate (and rather mean) comment about Octavia‘s then-boyfriend, Illian.

And now, there it is, a stupid and non-removable coffee stain is colouring and wrinkling the better part of that book. His book.

 _Coincidence, my ass_ , he thought, his eyes were almost burning  another mark into the pages; and that's when Mister T had mailed him the stupid test with the cheesiest subject line:

 

**Return this at your earliest convenience. You deserve to be loved.**

 

**L Tanoak**

**LoveIsiNtheair Co.**

**Professional Love Guru**

  


 

 _Pffft_.

 

How did he find himself in this situation in the first place?

Oh right,  he knows how.

His sister.

Octavia.

  
  


***** three weeks prior to meeting Lincoln *****

 

“You do know that not being sexually active for an extended period of time is not unhealthy?” Bellamy grumbles, mostly to himself, but loud enough that she can hear him. He sighs, dramatically almost, before turning to face his sister, suddenly more serious. He really doesn’t want to talk about sex with his sister, _that_ one time has been enough. But she has to understand that not having casual sex — “It’s a choice.”

“I know, Bell,” Octavia sighs, dejectedly. “I just – I don’t know…. I just want you to find someone nice to start a life with and…” she inches closer to him, grabbing hold of his shoulders, effectively forcing him to look her in the eye.” Can you just do this for me? You don’t have to have sex with them, let alone kiss them on the first date, not even on the fourth or twentieth if you’re not ready. And if they don’t understand that, they don’t deserve you anyway and you better send them my way for a sisterly  talk.”

He lets out a breath he was holding.

“Wow, you grew up so fast,” he says, warm and smug, tearing up a little, though he does everything to hide it, and pulls her into a hug.

 

***

 

His sister was honestly so sweet and considerate and looked so, so worried about him that he gave in and agreed to fill the application and respond to the love guru within a week.

But, his favourite copy of _The Iliad_ (hardcover) is still stained forever due to poor life choices. A part of him, he reasoned, has never promised to take any of this meddling seriously. So he ended up giving the corniest and cheesiest responses he could think of.

To his utmost surprise, they don't waste time at _LoveIsiNtheair_ _Co_. He's known it was a possibility but he didn't really want to believe his sister when she'd said to dress up nicely, he might even get a date out of it right away.

And yet, he did.

Bellamy is vibrating with nervousness. His fingers are tapping out the cords of The Imperial March against the table, jiggling his knee up and down, while he is waiting for his date to arrive, are enough proof of that.

 

** *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite things in this story is in this chapter.


	3. Rabbit or Duck

His date hasn’t arrived yet, but rest assured he is a little early. Okay, a good twenty minutes early but Octavia was kinda high key pestering him after they’d left the matchmaker’s offices and he needed some time alone. Time to calm his nerves and to organize his thoughts before his “big” date. Hardly out on the street and he pecked Octavia on the cheeks, parting with a “call you later, O.”

When his date shows up thirty minutes later, he cannot stop the self-indulgent, smug smile that crosses his features, because vindication is indeed the finest and most satisfying feeling on Earth. He's not even surprised that _call-me-just-Lincoln_ has managed to screw this up. Or Murphy. It doesn't matter. He knew it was going to be a hocus-pocus from the beginning.

He didn’t even notice her at first, and who can blame him, honestly – she's not exactly the type that he ever dated or the kind of partner he was specifically asking for, for that matter. So when she clears her throat, probably not even for the first time, it’s her voice that is pulling him back to reality.

He stifles the urge to snort before his date notices his amusement, instead, he stands up - he is still a gentleman after all.

The first thing he notices is that she's not a brunette, not even a little bit. She’s more like a natural blonde with a few pink highlights in her hair.

 _Love Guru, right_ , he thinks to himself. _More like I-think-I’m-good-enough-to-hit-on-your-sister. Not in a month of Sundays, asshole._

Her smile is bright and she's wearing a dress. Nothing fancy, thankfully, as he raves his eyes over her body and appreciates the dark curve wrapping emerald dress. It makes her eyes shine an ethereal sea blue, although, he thinks they are closer to the sky’s blue under natural light.

"Hey, I'm Clarke," she holds out her hand in greeting and he slowly reaches out and takes it.

Her hold is strong.

Not what he expected.

The entire woman, from head to toe, with her 5 feet and 5 inches give or take, and very much not brown curls, is not what he expected. At all.

She doesn't strike him the type that needs glasses, or contacts - _the glasses_ he had very pointedly marked on his answer sheet as a strong preference, as far as he remembers. Just to be a cocky asshole for sure. But. Come on. Lincoln couldn’t have known that he was messing with the test.

He takes his sweet time scanning his eyes on her from head to toe once more.

Not that she's not attractive - because _she is_ \- but she's different from his usual type.

Not worse, _oh no_ , definitely not but she is visibly different.

He internally snorts, because he so knew better. He knew better than to trust _Mister Love_.

If Clarke notices his confusion and the wide range of emotions running through his head, she doesn't show.

She does tilt her head a little in amusement but doesn't comment on it. The movement is enough, though, to draw his attention to a bright spot on the side of her neck, a light pink stroke of paint just below her left ear. He wants to ask her if that's the same dye she'd coloured her hair with, but he doesn't. He will keep that for later, when they are both seated and eased into this situation, _their date_ , a little more.

He is ready to step around the table and pull out the chair for her, but Clarke is decidedly quicker and has already settled down. She fidgets a little, as if to find that one comfortable spot on the cushion of the chair that is worn down enough by the other guests.

"So, Bellamy, tell me -" she starts, careful, “- if you were one of the lone survivors of a nuclear apocalypse, what role would you assume? Team player or more of a Lord of the Flies tyrant type?”

He smirks, scratches his nose and signals their server; this definitely requires a real drink.

 

***

 

The date is not a complete disaster, surprisingly, quite the opposite. Clarke is beautiful and witty. He thinks it's going fine.

And it _has been_ going fine until the _Odyssey_ comes up - his alpha and omega - his Bible and he can only blame his pain-in-the-ass/stick-to-the-facts attitude when the atmosphere at their table takes a turn from flirty and light-hearted to you have a death wish.

Rest assured, Clarke is scarily competitive when it comes to defending her own opinions (and he suspects in general as well) and he kinda likes it. Who is he kidding, he is weirdly into it and maybe – probably – that’s why he is switching gears.

But when the _Odyssey_ comes up is when all hell breaks loose.

Again, in his defence, he didn't really expect her to have read the book. It’s… heavy. Pretty blonde girls are not the type to read _these_ kinds of books or know these kinds of stories in detail – beyond whatever weak opinions those ten-page summary pamphlets offer anyway.

And this is where he’s wrong.

"So you're telling me that it is okay for _Odysseus_ to be redeemed completely for sleeping around and welcomed back by Penelope just like that -“

“– _Clarke_ , that’s not -“

“– without them having a proper conversation just because he is her husband who happens to have a penis and -“

“– _Clarke_ , would you just-“

“– after he slept with various women whilst she was relentlessly waiting _for years_ for her lost husband, never giving up _hope_ , _and_ refusing the advances of many young and capable lovers–“

“– no, _Clarke_ , that’s not -“

“– do you -“

“– _not_ what I said.”

“– even know what a _hero’s journey_ is?”

He sucks in a deep breath, mouth opening in annoyance and he’s pretty sure his nostrils are flaring like a dragon’s by now – Grecian and Roman literature and mythology is his expertise and passion; graduating top of the class in Classics was his calling after all. (Everyone in his friend group knows that.)

He snaps his mouth shut, gritting his teeth, and then:

“I KNOW PERFECTLY WHAT A HERO’S JOURNEY IS, _PRINCESS_!” he snaps, startling her.

If looks could kill, she would’ve stabbed him to death twice by now.

She stares at him. "Excuse me?!” she fumes, drawing in a sharp breath.

She doesn't wait for a response. She jumps to her feet – her movements are so quick he barely has time to notice - and it takes him by complete surprise when she reaches for her drink and tosses it right in his face.

“I think we’re done here.”

She smoothes her hands down her curves, turning on her heels. The heels of her pumps are echoing against the marble floor as she thunders her way out of the restaurant is the only sound he senses for a while.

He has zero doubts that his shirt is completely ruined by the tinted wine that is idly dripping down his face and soaking right into the delicate material of his shirt; considering, he can already feel the cold stickiness of the alcohol which is going to coat his skin in a matter of seconds. He makes a note to himself regardless to lookup homemade remedies on ‘how to remove stains of red wine from a cotton shirt’ when he is at home and bathed. And yet, despite how abruptly and catastrophically this evening ended, he smiles.

He wordlessly settles the check when the server returns, even leaves a small tip as he gathers his thin jacket and pockets his wallet in a hurry and he is soon on his way out with a solid determination to apologise. If he can. He was deliberately teasing her, after all, and he should have instinctually known that Clarke is a smart and worthy opponent unlike anyone else he’s met. And even if he doesn’t think they are a match, romantically speaking, he wouldn’t mind having her around. He likes her.

By the time he’s out on the street through the heavy double doors, his heart is beating so fast, his breathing is uncontrollable and ragged from the rush. His quick steps have practically turned into a sprint. But it’s almost pitch dark and no sight of Clarke anywhere.

He’s resting his palms on his kneecaps and lets his head being pulled down by gravity as he lets his breathing even out. The chill of the night hits his skin, making him shiver. The liquid feels like ice against the goosebumps covering his skin.

Oh well, there’s nothing he can do _tonight_. He’s stretching his leg, easing the strain in his muscles a little before he decides to just head home and take a walk instead of taking the taxi. The forty minutes distance is bearable and gives him some time to run the events of the night through his head.

It was not a successful date by standards, but it was a good date. He enjoyed his time with Clarke. He hasn’t felt so alive in years.

The smile on his face doesn’t fade until he’s back at his apartment, showered, and changed into a soft shirt and fresh underwear. Not until sleep is slowly overtaking his body.

And as he drifts off to sleep, he thinks of a pretty blonde, with a sharp tongue and piercing blue eyes. He thinks of how he is so close to doing something very stupid: swallowing his pride and calling Lincoln’s offices in the middle of the night - his dignity be damned.

(He gives himself a week.)

 

** *

  



	4. Something Sweet Like Cherries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy discovers a new grocery store.

As expected, Octavia is eager to learn all the details of his date, and in true Octavia fashion, she barges into his apartment - and into his bedroom - without any warning the next morning.

"How was it?" Pulling the covers off of his bed.

"Jeez, O. Do you know boundaries?" He asks, voice still raspy from sleep, rubbing at his eyes. Like that would help to wake him up.

"Ha! That's rich coming from you."

Okay, fair point. He’s cock-blocked plenty of guys in her late teenage years and he still does it on occasions. (Just like he was attempting to do exactly that the other night.) In his defence, mister hocus-pocus looked too confident, and in his unbiased opinion, he is too old for his sister anyway.

But, of course, his sister is more than willing to bring it all up, whenever she feels the need to justify her actions.

"Hey, what if my date went so well, that I'm laying in my bed, this bed,” he gestures around him,” butt naked because she wanted to spend the night with me?”

"Please," Octavia scoffs, dismissing him with a hand. "I know you, Bell. You are not _that_ guy anymore. You’ve never been that guy. Or well... not since you’ve turned twenty-four, anyway.

"And don't think I don't know what you were doing with Lincoln the other day.“

_Right, so she’s noticed._

"I don't know what you're talking about," dragging his hand through his hair. “Miller and Bryan are waiting for me for brunch, just that you know. If I don’t show up in time, they’ll assume I’m dead in a ditch.”

" _Please_ ," she gestures with her hand in dismissal. “Now, dress up! I brought you coffee and croissants, you can tell me all about your big date during breakfast."

To be on brand, he huffs, but somewhat reluctantly and excruciatingly slowly like a sloth he drags himself out of bed.

Coffee sounds nice, but probably he should shave first and put on some real clothes. And also text Miller – knowing his sister this can take a while.

_Raincheck?_ he texts once he’s alone in the bathroom, towel haphazardly on his shoulders. _My dating life is apparently a family emergency. Not sure I can make it on time._

_good luck,_ Miller replies almost immediately.

_Awww, love you too, bro_ , he sends his reply before setting his phone aside, and reaches for the blue gooey shaving gel he’s sworn not to use again. But apparently, the universe is against him today since his well-tested brand is out.

_Note to self: change the lock and go shopping._

 

***

 

In the end, he doesn't have time to back out of his earlier determination.

She spots Clarke two days later (and four days before the self-proclaimed deadline before reaching out to Mr Murphy), struggling to reach a jar of cherries.

It is pure luck. Or destiny.

It is pure luck that he happened to stumble upon this grocery store on his way home, just when he remembered he was running low on milk and fair trade coconut oil.

But it has to be destiny that he stumbled upon exactly this shop, exactly on this day, when he decided to take a detour home and forego his usual route.

He is minding his own business at the aisle for canned products when he spots her. At first, he doesn’t even recognise who it is. He sees a hot blonde, in tiny cargo shorts and a black top, hair piled up in a crown braid on the top of her head with thick black glasses perching on her nose. He appreciates the view, really, the way her calves are straining, as she rises up up up on her tiptoes, almost abandoning her flats and stepping out of them. (Or, so it seems like to him from the distance.) Clearly, she is working hard to grab for the jars out of her reach.

And then the realisation hits.

He knows her. Oh boy, does he know her, she is haunting his dreams for days now.

He grins and sidles up to her, grabbing for one of the jars with ease, dropping it into her hands.

He must have surprised her because she freezes, and blinks at the bottle like it’s some magical object teleported right there into her hands from a pocket dimension, and she is expecting it to disappear the more and longer she blinks.

But when it doesn’t - after what has to be like the hundredth blink, she turns and _his_ mouth falls open. The fact that she's wearing freaking glasses only registers truly with him right _at that moment_ and that is ... _Damnit_ , she looks - she looks unfairly sexy. On top of being cute.

"Oh. Bellamy, right?" she finally says.

There's another streak of paint on her skin, this time under her chin, in the colour of vivid green like fresh grass in the spring, which makes him smile wider.

"You know... there are plenty of those cherries,” he raises his hand in the air to gesture with two of his fingers” right there, on the middle shelf," he says, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but —“ she huffs, straining on her toes again as if to prove a point that she can reach the shelf on her own,” they always put the jars closer to the expiry date to eye level. The jars on the top and in the back are fresher."

“I see,” he smiles.

“What?”, she pouts.” I want the best value for my money.”

He is positively grinning know.

“So much that you’re willing to risk your life for it?”

“Standing on my tiptoes is hardly life-threatening, Bellamy.” His name rolls off of her tongue so easily (and he’d be lying to himself if he said he hated it) as she hands back the jar ( _his_ jar) into his hands, stretching high on her toes once again. He wonders if it's more than just proving him, and more like proving herself, that she can indeed reach that godforsaken shelf by herself, even if she strains a muscle.

He’s gonna give it to her, Clarke Griffin is not one to back down from a challenge when she sees one.

He takes a step back to give her some space but is ready to pounce and catch her in case she loses her balance and triples over. Until then, well, he is _not blind_ , he _can_ appreciate the view.

It takes her a couple of tries, before she succeeds, eventually, and when she does, she gracefully hops back into her discarded ballerina with a jar of cherries safely in her hand. She’s spinning on her toes, like a professional dancer, flashing a triumphant grin, as if to say _Ha! Told you so._

He’s answering with that smirking macho tough guy thing he used to do in his younger years, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Brave_ _princess_.”  

She scoffs. “God, I see you’re still an ass.”

She turns on her heels and walks away.

There is no edge to her voice, though, so he counts that as a win.

  


***

 

It somehow becomes a regular thing.

After all, the shop is only ten minutes away, give or take, from his regular grocery shop and a little extra exercise has never hurt anyone. In fact, he needs to stay in shape.

 

***

 

By the second week, he learns she teaches art for children, which explains the almost ever-present faint streak of paint on her cheek.

By the fifth week, before they bid one another goodbyes, she asks for his phone. To his surprise, she thumbs in her digits without blinking an eye. She hums absentmindedly and saves her number under **Princess Clarke** with one crown emoji.

He grins, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Later, when he is well on his way home he’s fishing for his phone at the sound of an incoming text.

It reads:

_same time on Friday?_

Sent by Princess Clarke [crown emoji]

A smile is beginning to tug on his lips. He is about to quit his messages when he sees the other text. She sent a message to herself with the nerdy face emoji. He grimaces. Alright, maybe he deserved that one.

He sends:

_I’ll be the one with a jar of cherries. - B_

And even though she is not in his close proximity anymore, the physical distance between them doesn’t help at all stopping his face heating up at the thought of her anyway.

 

***

 

He’s wearing glasses today. Despite his very organised reminders on most things like this, he ran out of the dailies and contact lens solution. The glasses are sitting a little bit askew on his nose, he knocked it over when he grabbed for a bag of rice from one of the upper shelves.

Clarke stops in her tracks when she sees him, she blushes a lighter shade of pink. And it takes him approximately four heartbeats to recover.

The next time she sees him in his glasses, she is even cuter, if that’s even possible – but the way she is having trouble keeping her eyes on his face is, simply put: adorable.

But that’s also the time he realizes he is in trouble. Not in actual trouble, not like the feeling he gets when he is a day too late dropping the check for his WLAN or electricity and he feels like a thief for paying late for utilities. This feeling is more tangible. He feels it deep in his bones that they are on the brink of something, _something_ very possibly more than friendship and it’s definitely much bigger than them moving from being acquaintances into being friends, who are not limited to affectionately bumping shoulders exclusively on “casual” and “impromptu” ( aka “running into each other by ‘pure’ coincidence”) run-ins at Clarke’s favourite grocery store.

But when he has to change his glasses months later because he fell asleep one night on the couch, and it literally fell off his nose and he stepped on it, it breaks beyond fixing. So he gets new glasses in dark blue, bordering black colour with a rounded frame instead of the old squarish style he had. Clarke notices, and she blushes, looking away. He nudges her shoulders with his own, and it takes him the entire afternoon and dropping his keys into the small wooden bowl under the mirror next to the coat rack in his apartment for the realisation to dawn on him. The moment he sees himself in the mirror with the new glasses, he just knows.

This feels something big. Life-altering.

He’s known before that he was attracted to her. And he has guessed Clarke liked him enough, they are practically texting each other every day since they’ve exchanged numbers and started hanging out more, even outside of the grocery store and eventually became actual friends.

But.

This.

This feels something good, a solid relationship he has worked for on 100% platonic grounds, and yet, here they are.

He. Makes. Her. Blush.

(And if he wears a stupid smile on his face for the rest of the day, no one is around to call him out.)

  
*** *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Validation is a bitch. Being insecure about a thing is an even bigger bitch.


	5. The Limited Edition

Everything goes well, until one day Octavia sidles up to him with a huff.

“Are you seeing the trash panda again? Really, Bell? I thought you were smarter than _that_.”

He almost chokes on the freshly brewed black tea he is drinking.

“Don’t call her _that_. It’s—“

_Derogatory_. It reminds him of his lowest. But, considering how he was holding himself in his dark days and considering his dark days are long gone and just a memory, and truly are behind him; he is not feeling out of place or lost anymore. It's like suddenly he can see. 

He blows on his tea.

“Bell —“

There’s a hint of desperation to her voice, the kind of tilt to it she unknowingly possesses when she worries about him too intensely. ”—She roofied you!! Or did you forget?!?”

He winces.

True. And not once, until Miller finally caught Echo in action.

But he decided not to expose her right away and played along to get to the bottom of this. Understand her reasons or something.

First, he pretended to be drinking too much to be in any condition for night activities. Then, faking a mighty headache for a week, much for the same reason, but she still didn’t break. Weeks of not putting out, weeks of trying to get her to talk. Nothing. 

He finally confronted her but she responded by framing his head in her hands, cooing sweet words, attempting to shove her tongue down his throat.

He ended it.

One night, not soon after, he broke down to Octavia and confessed everything.

_“Never got to know why, O. Wish I knew what makes someone go all this trouble and drug someone for … what? Sex?”_

There’s one rule between the Blakes ever since Octavia turned seventeen. They still lived together at the time when she stumbled home six hours after the designated curfew, that led to a huge blow out between them and his sister not talking to him for weeks.

 

**_Rule Number One: No mention of either Blake and sex in the same sentence. Ever. Again._ **

 

Octavia was surprisingly cool about The Confession.

She got up to stretch her legs, returning with another bottle of cold beer for them. They clinked their glasses.

_“It’s your Big Dick Energy, big brother.”_

_Huh._

He took a swig and it might have been the first time - following weeks of existing - he was able to show a small genuine smile.

 

 

 

“You taught me -” she pokes her pointer finger against his chest,”-  to respect myself. Do you respect yourself, big brother?”

He grimaces and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at her. Straight into her eyes. “I don’t know why you would think that, O.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs again.

“I don’t know, _Bell_. Maybe, because you seem …  I don’t know, you are acting weird. You’re acting like someone getting laid on the regular or something. And it's not a crime exactly, but – You. Deserve. So. Much. More. ”

He almost manages to hide the smile. Almost.

“Yes, exactly that,” she gestures at him. “I know you, Bell. You are smiling way too much.”

“And I cannot smile without getting laid?”

“You know what I mean... you don’t have this -   _this_ \- contented grin unless…. Arghhhh! Okay. You know what? Don’t tell me. But please use protection, I don’t want to be an aunt to _her_ babies.”

“Sure… Mom. “ He really shouldn’t say this but he can’t help himself when he adds: “I promise - when or if I have sex again I will use a condom. Or, you know, make sure to pull out.”

Octavia chucks a cookbook at him, aiming at his head. She misses, but just about an inch.

“Too much information, Bellamy. Too much information.”

 

***

 

“Alright,” Clarke announces. “Here's the question I have to ask.”

He places a bowl of crackers between them on the couch. Clarke ended up at his place after a particularly long day at the school and he offered a foot massage.  He is a good friend. “Shoot?”

“A guy like you who… “she starts, her face breaks into a soft smile, “Right - you are objectively speaking very good looking. Amazing. So a guy like you - _you_ wouldn't have an issue picking up any girl, or anyone really, you want in a random bar..”

He laughs out loud and scratches his neck. “Umm, thanks? I guess.”

“No, let me finish,“ she holds up a hand in mild protest. “Why did you sign up for Lincoln?”

“Well - it wasn't me. It was my baby sister ...” he croaks,”... my sister’s idea.”

She looks at him like someone who swallowed a bug. Surprised. Adorable.

“No, I’m serious! She’s … you’re gonna understand when you meet her.“

She raises an eyebrow at him in question.

He sighs.

“She's determined. And she thought I was being pathetic for too long and all that because…. Yeah, I was under myself for a very long time after my last break up and the person after that was…. it was a mess, and not one of my shining moments. I grew a beard. And … you know what? It doesn’t matter. I just let myself be someone unrecognizable to the outside world, thinking that I finally grew up and into something better. You wouldn’t like that version... Hell, I hated what I’ve become... But, that was over a year - a year and a half ago and slowly, I found myself again. And my sister thought I needed to put myself out there.”

What he doesn’t add is this:

_She was also worried I’d die alone, grumpy and bitter, and my balls would turn blue and fall off_. Which … she hasn’t used exactly those words, but she implied it. He wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been feeling the urge to be sexually intimate. He did try getting over Gina with sex with someone else and look where it had ended. It was helping to soothe his immediate pain, this sense of something ending and the emptiness that follows. Regardless, it was still a mistake. He still felt out of place and hollow. A ghost.

He drags in a deep breath. “Yeah, she _was_ right, in a way. I just … I didn’t need new people in my life at the time, and for a long time, sexually or otherwise, but… she was right in the sense of pushing me to get out of this shell.”

They are both silent for a while, only the faint ticking of the clock on the wall is echoing in his apartment.

“And, to be honest, I don't want to meet someone serious half drunk at a bar. Not that it’s… it’s not bad meeting at bars or anything, but …” he wets his lips, “I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

She reaches out, puts her hand on his and squeezes it.

“I’m glad Lincoln talked me into going on that date. I was so close to bailing... you have no idea,” she breathes out as he holds back a breath, shaking, and Bellamy feels his heart rate pick up and something warm and thrilling start to worm its way into his stomach.

And then the realisation hits:

One, Lincoln wasn’t lying when he excused himself.

Two, now he owes the man a thank you, and he doesn’t know how to go about that.

Three, Octavia is going to rub this in his face for years to come.

 

***

 

“I have something for you,” Clarke says with a nervous edge to her voice. She is putting pressure from one foot to the other, almost dancing on the balls of her feet - so unlike her.

She is _so_ cute like this when she’s visibly nervous. Or embarrassed? He cannot tell, she never acted so out of element since he knows her and he is dying to know why.

He is cocking an eyebrow at her. She is chewing on the insides of her bottom lip in response.

“What is it, _Princess_?”

“Umm– I know it’s not the same edition, but I found this and … and it was just collecting dust on the shelf anyway… So here,” she pushes a neatly wrapped package- a book? - onto his hands. The wrapping paper is soft and worn at the edges, one of those thin crunchy papers you can find in a shoebox.

He removes the wrapping paper and – the air is knocked out of him. Bellamy finds himself stare. At first, he stares at the book on display in his hands and trying but failing to control the slight tremble of his fingers. He swallows, he lifts his head and stares _at her_ for a good ten seconds, maybe an hour, words seeming to escape him.

“It’s the _Odyssey_.”

To be precise, it’s the _Odyssey_ , _1929 Limited Edition_ with those fancy illustrations in blue ink littering the pages. He thumbs at it. The spine leather is a little darkened, the pages are solid and clean.

“Yeah… yeah, the hardcover and the binding is mostly intact,” she takes a deep breath like she needs a moment to steady her voice as well as if she’s feeling even a fraction of the emotions running through his veins right now. And maybe she does. ”I just thought, you'd like it.”

He clears his throat, shakes his head and looks at her.

“Like it?” he replies, voice still a little rough. ”Clarke, _like it_??! I love it! You have no idea – but –“

She worries her lips and ducks her head to hide a smile before meeting his gaze again.

“You mentioned you had a copy of _The Iliad_ but it got damaged and,” she lets out a relieved breath, ”I know it's not _The Iliad_ but it’s kind of fitting if you think about it, considering the way we met is –”

She flushes full-on red now, deep red creeping up her neck.

She really is cute when she is rambling and he’d love to see that blush climb higher on her face, or lower, below her neckline, but he is definitely  _losing it a little_ right now. Because she did _this_ , really did this, offering this book  _for_ _him._ He feels like a kid on Christmas Day. He feels something indescribable, something way beyond the crazy fluttering of his heart in his chest, so he closes the distance in one step on instinct, the book still a solid presence in his hand. His free hand reaches up and slides his fingers into her curls, holding her head gently and pulling her even closer to him. He rests his forehead against hers as his thumb strokes her skin. It takes him a little while longer to pull back a notch and put some distance between them in order to take in her lazy smile. He looks at her. He sees her. And it’s blinding. Her eyelashes are fluttering like the wings of a spooked butterfly, he could probably watch her till eternity. Instead, he leans back in and dips his head and drops a gentle kiss on her mouth.

It feels just right.

Like he belongs.

He hovers.

She sighs into his mouth. He responds instantly, pulling her in once more for a quick, sweet peck, but doesn’t deepen the kiss.

Her answering smile is everything.

 

**** *

  
  


 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Truth is, I got distracted by an idea for a one-shot (which is still not finished so wish me luck).
> 
> P.S. I cannot believe that I'm actually so close finishing a multichapter story, this is big for me.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. I’ll be damned but I haven't seen this coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet-cutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back with the final chapter! I hope you will enjoy it!  
> Thank you to everyone reading and waiting and a special thanks to all of you leaving a kudos and/or comment! It really meant a lot!
> 
> Special shout out to Cha, who kept me motivated in the past weeks <3

The first time they kissed might have been the height of a vulnerable moment; he got emotional over a book, big time; he thanked her and not completely inadvertently kissed her; she didn’t stop him so he dived in for another one.

In retrospect, it was also a very fleeting moment and they haven’t talked about the kiss - kisses - for days to come.

Their next kiss, however, is very deliberate.

It feels like spicy burrito and bitter-y dark beer.

They are in the grocery store, leaning against the door of a cooler.

They are very much in public, and it’s somewhere in the back of his mind, but he is kissing her, and he lets himself take the time this time. She seems really into his hair, tangling her fingers into it, tugging on his curls with determination - getting him to move closer to her.

The next time they kiss, it feels like toothpaste and blood.

He shaved, twice that day, once after waking up and then again getting ready for _their date_.

The blood is actually the courtesy of Clarke biting too hard and eager, for which she apologies vehemently. It isn’t necessary at all; he bit the insides of his mouth earlier that morning at breakfast, so it wasn’t entirely her fault in the first place. He tries to explain all this to her but he is so taken by this woman that all sane thought leaves his mind when she asks him to zip her up, unable to stretch her arms long enough with the dress she’s chosen.

As weeks go by he does catalogue the taste of their kisses internally, mostly, because every kiss seems to feel and taste so different - special, even weeks later. It is not lost on him that he can taste her practically whenever and wherever they are; and they hang out a lot ; with her, kissing is… simply that good.

 

***

 

The first time they have sex is weeks after their first kiss and is not the way he played it out in his head. It's not the sweet and slow lovemaking he’s imagined for their first time, but kind of wild and kind of messy, teeth clacking together and hands roaming all over their bodies, battling for dominance.

They've just had a small argument over grammar. She is truly beautiful like that; chest heaving and cheeks slightly flushed, ready to go to battle over this and convince him why proper punctuation is completely unnecessary on WhatsApp. (No, it is not. And he will stick to his opinion until his grave.)

He kisses her.

She kisses him back, and they stumble through her apartment like a hurricane, leaving items of clothing scattered all around as they go.

After, they are lying side by side, her thumb stroking circles into his palm.

"Well, that was..." he starts, but he is still too out of breath to finish the sentence and lets it hang in the air.

She giggles.

"Wow, Bell. I've never imagined I can render you speechless."

If only she knew. He stopped counting after ten.

He bites on her shoulder in retaliation, then kisses it and angles his body towards hers, slowly arranging their bodies into a spooning position.

He traces her earlobes with his nose, dropping small kisses on her skin and whispers, "In my defence, you didn't talk too much yourself in the past forty minutes either."

“You don’t say…” but she doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Bellamy rolls her over and they are in no condition to hold an actual conversation with their desire reignited.

They fall asleep like that: Bodies pressed together, Bellamy enveloping her in his warmth, his right hand resting on her right breast.

Their third time in the morning is so much sweeter and softer; he simply cannot stop kissing her. Not when she laughs into his mouth, rolling him onto his back, crawling above him, hovering and stretching like a cat. Watching her take over like that - quite honestly - drives him crazy.

But he waits patiently until she sinks down onto him, and he places his palms on her waist, guiding her moves, simultaneously letting her slowly torture him with her movements.

The sight of his cock disappearing into her clinging pussy is mesmerizing, though he has to admit, the fact that he is here, in this bed with Clarke, and experiencing physical and emotional closeness with her plays a huge part in it. And the sight of her flushed and panting, looking at him _like that_ \- like she doesn’t want anyone else in this world - is the best thing Bellamy has ever seen.

 

  
He only feels a tiny bit guilty for sneaking around.

But _when_ Octavia finds out, and she will, she will be all over them and never let him live this down.

He’s better gear himself up for it.

 

***

 

It’s a few weeks later when he finally comes up with a plan.

“So, I’ve been thinking, “Clarke turns to him, giving him undivided attention. “I should go over to O’s and make dinner and ease her into it. I don’t wanna keep this a secret any longer.”

“You want me to come with you?”

He thought about it. But the moment Clarke enters the picture, Octavia will be all over her and it’s not that he minds that exactly, but he should do this alone.

“Let me do this alone. I will tell her and then she wants to Facetime you anyway.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “So be ready. She can be... intense.”

“Alright.” Clarke gives him a half smile and drops a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll follow your lead.”

 _Hmm, intriguing_.

He opens his mouth but she cuts him off.

“No. I won’t give in this easy on everything,” she chuckles and smacks him with a throw pillow.

He leaves Octavia a message the next day that he’d come over.

 

***

 

He is an hour early, with two full bags of groceries in his hands. Thankfully she has left a spare key with him, so he lets himself in and heads for the small kitchen area.

What he is most definitely not prepared for is to see clothes all over the place and very distinctly sex noises coming out of the bedroom.

 _Oh fuck._ He sags, this can't be happening.

Fight or flee. Fight or flee.

Against his better judgement, he stays. They have to talk about this. (The Clarke situation can wait a little while longer.)

He sends her a text.

_Please put on some clothes when you’re finished,_

_Your brother (from the next room)_

Earplugs in, he is in the zone, listening to Metallica’s _Reload_ , as he puts the bags of groceries away; he is intent on quenching his big brother persona today.  She is not a kid anymore.

Octavia appears in the doorframe a little while later, fully dressed, with - and his eyes bulge so hard, he feels like a cartoon character with comically huge eyes popping out of their socket - _Lincoln_ in tow.

He barely contains the growl.

He really can’t kill the guy when he owes him.

And he cannot kill the guy when he clearly means something to Octavia, even if it is just a fling.

He exhales.

 _Lincoln_.

One deep breath in.

 _Lincoln_.

Breath out.

 _And_ **_his_ ** _baby sister._

Breathe in.

 _Together_.

He feels a headache building.

Lincoln nods in greeting and kisses her temple, one hand a solid presence on the low of her back. The gesture is disgustingly sweet. His breathing is almost back to normal now, and before Lincoln leaves them alone he says, “I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re ready to talk. I’m not hiding, Bellamy, but I leave you two to talk first.”

Bellamy nods on autopilot before his voice catches up to his brain, and his eyes narrow on Octavia and yells her name.

"Jesus, O! How long?"

She determinedly doesn't look at him.

He knows his sister. And that can only mean one thing. He won't like the answer.

He heaves a sigh.

"So, tell me this. Did you know him, when you made me fill in those endless forms and dragged me to _his_ offices dressed up and everything?"

He is still angry, not a question. But it's not like he expected his sister to practice celibacy until her wedding night, he knows she is not a virgin anymore and she is free to hook up with anyone she wants. (Delinquent in question: Atom Forrester. The very reason for Rule Number One.)

Not that there's anything wrong with a hookup - considering his late teenage years, he’d be a hypocrite to say she cannot be with anyone she wants - it’s just not something he wants for his sister. But she is still his sister; his baby sister; it feels like it’s been only a few years ago when he helped their mother change her diapers or teach her how to ride a bicycle. And he certainly cannot be angry for his sister for wanting to date a guy, which seems to be the case here, now that he thinks about it. Even if he technically paid the guy for his “consultancy” services. 

Octavia peeks up from under her eyelashes, cautious at first.

"Will you believe me if I say _no_? Because I didn’t. And I didn't plan this. It just -,” she shrugs,” happened.”

She is still flushed a little from the exertion, but he tries not to think too much of why exactly.

He doesn’t want to, nor likes to be angry for his sister too long.  

He doesn't respond; he takes a deep breath instead and exhales.

He repeats that motion twice.

"Okay."

 

*

 

There goes his foolproof plan for the evening: Cooking her dinner and casually mention the girl he is seeing.

The evening otherwise goes by is a peaceful manner. Lincoln is not that bad when he stops himself thinking about what he did to his sister.

Instead, he lets him lead the conversation, and whilst he's at it, try and get to know him better. Watching the way his sister go all soft around him, he has a feeling Lincoln will stick around.

He shoots a text to Clarke somewhere between the salad and the steak, _Act 1 is a fail. Tell you later. Act 2: new plan_

 

***

 

"Good morning", Clarke mumbles, although he knows she is still mostly asleep. She scoots closer into him, pressing her backside to his erection. In a very seductive and suggestive way.  
  
Her hand is reaching for him and soon the same hand is fisted in his hair. His lips are nipping on her shoulders, his dick is dangerously close to her entrance, slowly pushing into her with the tip, probing. She lifts her leg and rests it on his thigh, opening up wider to him, as one of his hand starts relentlessly working between her legs.

They are still under the covers and he thinks about kicking it away when hears the yelp.

"I wish that's something I'd never seen," Octavia's voice breaks through the haze. He catches a glimpse of the bedroom door moving and his sister turning on her heels before it slams shut. Maybe even the windows shake a little.

Octavia - Bellamy, 1 - 1.

Well, he didn’t exactly plan the big reveal this way:

His sister catching him, naked (albeit mostly hidden by the covers but schematics), in his bed, whilst he is spooning Clarke, their bodies leisurely moving in sync; he's so lost in nibbling that spot on Clarke's neck that always makes her squirm and sigh and pant; and Clarke gripping his wrist stronger at her front to hold it in place; on a mission to take her into oblivion, that he almost misses the squeal.

What follows is the slam of the door, shaking of glass, then, dead silence.

That is until Clarke starts to giggle and mutters something like _busted_ under her nose. He's not sure, but he's certain about hearing a happy sigh leaving her mouth and the small wiggle she does with her ass, which always, always drives him crazy, as she settles further back into his chest.

For what it’s worth, they were still mostly under the covers and they weren’t exactly loud. Yet.

He presses a kiss to Clarke's temple.

"Good morning," he chuckles.

"Good morning to you, too," she says, with a bright fondness in her voice. He likes it. He likes her so much. “So... Do you want to finish this before we head out and face the music?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I really, _really_ do." He grins, and presses her down into the mattress and kisses her long and deep.

He wedges his knee between her thighs.

The bed creaks.

Clarke beats his hands to the condom.

 

*

 

It’s only ten minutes later when they enter the living room; he notices Octavia has flipped on the TV and lets _Daredevil_ Season 1 play in the background, a little bit louder than necessary.

 _Here goes nothing_ , Bellamy sighs and grips onto Clarke’s hand tighter, pulling her along, feeling strong and indestructible; ready to go to battle with her on his side.

His sister doesn’t look at them but lowers the volume of the TV.

_Tick-tock._

A sigh.

_Tick-tock._

It is her voice that breaks the silence in the end.

“Traitor.” Is all she says.

_Tick-tock._

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. And I know you have all right to be mad at me, considering how I - “he means the more than the ideal way he’s learned about Lincoln, but he cannot get himself to say the words. It still freaks him out. He is searching for his sister’s face if she understands what he is trying to get at here. She apparently does, because she nods her chin at him.” Alright. But _please_ try to understand where I’m coming from a little. I wasn’t ready. I am now. And when you are done with - this, “he gestures towards her, and inhales deeply,” then, _please_ \- Clarke, this is Octavia. My sister. Octavia, meet Clarke.”

Clarke looks at him for guidance but he is so lost, he half-shrugs, not knowing himself what to do next. He is embarrassed, no question, but it’s not like he feels super guilty about the situation, all things considered. He didn’t want to keep Clarke a secret. He wanted to tell her. Octavia wanted him to date. And thanks to her meddling, he met Clarke.

Yet again, it is his sister who breaks the silence.

“Do you love her?”

 _Love_.

Four letters.

Also known as short for pain. Yet the same four letters hold so much power.

And if this ever constant warmth that settles over his chest could sing, it would probably sing in poetry.

Clarke’s grip on his hand intensifies, but only for a few seconds, then releases. 

 _Reassurance_. It's truly amazing how they can read each other from gestures.

Octavia grimaces, “Eh, forget it. It’s written all over your faces.”

She reaches for the remote, only to power the TV down and she is on her feet in an instant, a contented smile on her face, offering her hand in greeting.

"I'm really happy for you guys, although I still have to vet Clarke, no offence, but next time —" She heaves a breath and gestures wildly in the air with her hands. “Next time, _please_ lock the goddamn door or put a red ribbon on the handle. Or a panty or something. You know the rules,” dismissing them with a wave of her hand.

Bellamy orders them pizza for breakfast.

Clarke helps him set the table and opens the wine.

 

(Lincoln knowingly smiles to himself from his comfortable spot on the couch.)

 

 **_Fin_**.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the long wait. I had it 90% written, but then got invested in a one-shot and couldn't let it go until finished for once. (It is, so you'll see that coming soon.) But it also drained me a lot, and it is a small miracle that I found my way back to this story. Truth be told, I almost completely rewrote this chapter yesterday. But - finally, we are here and I officially finished a multi-chapter story!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving a kudos and/or comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. It's mostly written - can you believe it? But. There’s still some editing to be done and some encouragement would be nice. xx


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